


Liquor Might Not Solve All Your Problems But It's Worth A Shot

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Awkward Flirting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Drinking, Drunken Flirting, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, No Deadpool Thought Boxes, POV Wade Wilson, Pick-Up Lines, Protective Wade Wilson, Sassy Peter Parker, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Spideypool Bingo 2020 prompt: [Sister Margaret's]Wade walks into Sister Margaret's School for Wayward Children, to see Weasel has hired a gorgeous new bartender called Peter.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: MissMoochy's Spideypool Bingo Oneshots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813951
Comments: 20
Kudos: 544





	Liquor Might Not Solve All Your Problems But It's Worth A Shot

Wade slunk into Sister Margaret’s with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Earlier, he’d only had the weight of his katanas on his shoulders but now, responsibility was heavy in his heart and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit somebody or fuck them.

“Hi, Weas.”

“What’ll it be?” Weasel, his familiar friend, leant on the bar and peered up at Wade through his cokebottle glasses.

“Something to take a bad taste out of my mouth. I’ve had a shit day. It’s like God ate some bad Taco Bell, went to bed feeling rough and woke up at 3:00AM and unleashed a rainstorm of liquid shit on the toilet bowl that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“I got shot earlier and fell off a roof. I broke my back so I couldn’t even get my mark and the fucking bastard escaped. He’s a real piece of shit, too. Hurts women.”

 _"Fuck,_ ” Weasel said emphatically. _Bless him._ “You’ll get him next time. I’ll get you a drink, gimme a sec -- oh, there you are! Nice of you to show up!”

Wade glanced over his shoulder at the hooded figure scurrying over. Whoever they were, they were short and slim, wearing a baggy yellow hoody that was weighted with rainwater and blue jeans. They dashed behind the bar, squeezing past Weasel, muttering a dozen ‘sorrys’ as they passed, and disappeared into the back. Wade hadn’t heard so many apologies since his days in Regina.

“Who was that?”

“My new bartender. Business is doing well and I’m only one man.”

“I could help you behind the bar.”

“No way, I don’t trust you. Besides, aren’t you too busy being a hero these days?”

Weasel had a point. Wade had been spreading himself thin, these days. He still did his merc work, but now, he had a new calling. He’d become acquainted with Spider-Man, the beautiful (Wade assumed) and talented hero of Queens. Spider-Man had a real kink for obeying the law, which meant that Wade wasn’t allowed to kill while they were working together. He suspected Spidey knew Wade still killed on his other gigs, but when the two of them would go on missions, Wade would be a good boy. His trigger finger would itch like hell, but it was worth it to receive Spider-Man’s reluctant praise. There was something so pure and honest about Spider-Man. He was forceful, could be lethal if he chose to (and fuck, that super-strength of his was such a turn-on) but he had made a decision to be better than the average man. Not only to be brave but to be responsible, too. He was uncorrupted by all the death and filth in the city. And the way he spoke to Deadpool. It was like he saw something inside Wade, something that not even Wade could see. Something _good._

“Sorry, sorry, ah, crap --” Weasel’s hired help was back, and he’d peeled off his sodden hoody and -- _fuck._ He was hot. Young, lean with adorable eyes and wet, brown hair plastered to his forehead. Skinny too, maybe a bit too much, but whatever, he was probably a college student, working for Weasel as a side job or something.

“Why are you always late, Peter? You got to take this more seriously.”

“I know, I’m sorry, um, there was this incident at the subway just now, some lunatic trying to set off a bomb and the police have blocked off a few roads and I had to stop -- I mean, I couldn’t get use public transport so I ran here in-instead.”

“Huh. Sounds like the sort of thing Spider-Man would be all over.” Weasel said and shot Wade a knowing look. _Yeah, Weasel, subtle._

“Er, I -- I think he was there,” Peter stammered. He still hadn’t seen Wade. It was preferable than the inevitable look of horror he would get when he saw Wade’s ugly mug. “I don’t know, I didn’t, I wasn’t close enough to speak to him.”

“Yeah. He probably wouldn’t bother with you unless you’re a mutant, anyway.” Weasel told him.

“Spider-Man’s not like that,” Wade muttered, and he felt Peter’s eyes flick to him. He glanced up, saw beautiful brown eyes directed right at him and there was no fear. No disgust. Peter was staring at him, a frank, open look as if he was making up his mind about him. Wade hoped he was making a good impression.

“You think Spider-Man has time for the little people?” Peter asked.

Wade bristled. “He doesn’t think of non-mutants as lesser than him. That’s why he’s not crawling up Tony Stark’s ass like the rest of The Avengers. Do you know they won’t even answer a call unless the whole city is in danger? Spidey’s out here, pounding the pavement, getting, I don’t know, cats out of trees and stopping muggings. He’s a real hero, not those losers.”

He expected cool derision or maybe just that blank look people tended to give Wade but instead, Peter grinned at that. He had a cute smile. “Yeah, I think you’re probably right. That’s a good read on Spider-Man. Have you met him before?”

“Yeah. Not as friends, but. Yeah.”

“Wade, this is great but you gotta tell me what you want to drink if you want me to serve you. If you can even speak with Spider-Man’s cock in your mouth. Pete, go put new cakes in the urinals. The restroom smells like shit.”

“If any room should smell like shit, it’s the restroom!” Peter remarked, pulling a face, but he ambled off, and Wade watched him walk away. Those wet jeans clung to his ass, accentuating his curves. _Damn, son._

“What was that about?” Weasel asked him. “You can’t go praising Spider-Man in this bar! I know you and him have got some weird gay love triangle thing--”

“Not a love triangle, a love triangle has three people--”

“--but you can’t let people in here know that you’re working with him. It’s bad enough that you’re following him around like a puppy, when you go ‘patrolling’ with him.”

“You don’t approve? It’s character development!”

“You can do what you want, man. But don’t bring Spider-Man to my bar, okay?”

“As if! He’d never show his face in here!” Wade snorted.

* * *

Wade had already been given a beer by the time Peter returned. He was disappointed to see that Peter’s jeans were drying, only a couple of wet patches remained, on his shins. He tried not to think about the heat radiating from Peter’s groin, drying out the rough denim. Wade drained the last of his beer as Peter took his place behind the bar. He wanted to order a drink from him. Weasel was in the back, taking a call. But Peter was serving another guy and Wade might as well be invisible.

Peter grinned up at the punter, making easy conversation as he tossed ice in a glass. He looked too small and clean to be in a place like this, if Wade had been blessed with spider-sense, it would be tingling right now. Instead of another body part that was tingling, because Peter was now bending over the bar to read a meme on the man’s phone.

Peter had a nice laugh, Wade decided. He wished he was suited up, he felt a lot more comfortable inserting himself into conversations when his face was covered. Which was stupid, seeing as how Peter had already seen his face and had actually been polite about it. But Peter returned to behind the bar and the guy waddled off with his drink, so Wade beckoned to the bartender with a finger. Peter sidled up to him, resting his forearms on the bar.

“What can I get you, Wade, wasn’t it?”

Was it a good sign Peter had remembered his name? 

“Give me a _Blow Job._ ” Wade said, smiling winningly. He waited a beat.

It was worth it just to see Peter’s shocked face, his eyebrows raised and his face pinking so prettily. But then the colour cleared and recognition swam in his eyes. “Oh my God, you got me. Okay, one Blow Job coming up.” and he jumped to it.

Peter moved with an effortless grace as he worked. It might seem like a strange thing to fixate on, but the Peter from earlier (the one who stammered at Weasel and blushed at Wade’s joke) was gone, replaced with a man who moved with confidence. There was no unnecessary movement, Wade realised. He couldn’t describe it completely, but it felt like it was familiar.

Peter set down the drink in front of Wade, and it looked like a good one, the Amaretto and Irish Cream in perfect, thick layers and a bouncy puff of cream on top. It wasn’t Wade’s usual choice, he’d only ordered it to embarrass Peter, but he licked his lips and downed it in one. It was sweet and creamy, reminding Wade of the bartender himself.

“How was it? It was my first time making that, I hope it didn’t _suck!"_ Peter joked.

“It was delicious,” Wade replied, handing him a bill. “I’ll have to insist on you drinking with me. I don’t like drinking alone.”

“I’m on the clock, sorry.”

“Weasel doesn’t care about that, look, he’s drinking a beer right now!” Wade pointed out and they both turned to look at the man, who was indeed drinking across the other side of the room and doing no work whatsoever.

Peter shrugged, willing to admit defeat. “Sure, okay. I will have…” he paused to think. “A _Stinger_.” He smiled at that, a smug little smirk as if enjoying a private joke,

“What’s in a Stinger?” Wade asked. He didn’t recognise it off the menu.

“Creme de Menthe and vodka.”

“You drink vodka?” Wade said sceptically, but Peter merely grinned and ducked his head.

“I’m not some wilting rose, Wade. Besides, I’m a student. I’ll eat or drink anything if I’m not the one paying!”

“You shouldn’t have told me that, I’ll have to find you something really gross for you to eat,”

“What, like your dick?” Peter quipped. He was mixing his drink as he listened.

“Actually, I was thinking of those fried bugs they eat in, like, Bangkok…”

“Aw, now I feel bad for dissing your dick.”

“If you feel really bad about it, you could give the little guy a hug. With your legs.”

Peter took a sip of his freshly-made Stinger (it looked pretty boring, orangey-brown with a lot of ice) and set it down on the bar. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Do you know any _good_ pick up lines?”

Wade reached over the bar and snagged a bottle of tequila for himself. He’d pay for it later. “Okay, here’s one. If I said you had a beautiful body--”

“Would you hold it against me? Yeah, I’ve heard that before. That’s significantly better than your last one.”

“Your turn,” Wade said and took a swig.

“Okay,” Peter said. He’d already finished his cocktail. “Do you believe in love at first sight or do I have to walk past you again?”

“Aww, sweet. Okay, my go,” Wade said and passed the bottle to Peter. He was gratified to see Peter take a sip, not caring to wipe the lip of it first. Too many people treated Wade like his scars were contagious. “Um..oh, here we go. Fuck me if I’m wrong, but is your name Derek?”

“No, it’s Peter,” Peter said blandly, passing the bottle back. He paused for a second, his pretty face wrinkling in thought. “My go. This is hard…”

“Like my dic--”

“ _Shhh._ Okay. Do you know what this is?” He loomed over the bar, grabbing a handful of his own t-shirt and offering it to Wade. His shirt hiked up, revealing inches of pale, smooth skin.

Wade paused, seeing the tantalising flesh but then his brain kicked in gear and he gingerly let his fingers brush the soft cotton. He vaguely remembered the quote but played dumb. “No, what is it?”

“Boyfriend material!” Peter crowed and Wade was glad he’d played along, Peter seemed so thrilled with his own joke.

This went on for some time, drinking and joking, Wade paying as they worked their way through several bottles. Wade’s hearty constitution (thank you and fuck you, _Francis_ ) stopped him from getting properly drunk, but he was able able to experience a pleasant haze, a warmth in his chest and a vague muzziness in his head.

* * *

Peter could hold his liquor. In another life, he would have made a perfect drinking buddy. But even he succumbed to the effects of alcohol, and Wade realised the boy was getting drunker, leaning more heavily on his side of the bar and laughing louder at Wade’s jokes.

Weasel had disappeared and although Peter had to occasionally leave Wade to go and serve a customer, he kept returning to Wade’s spot at the bar, refilling his glass and goofing off with him. At least the bar was pretty casual tonight, there had been only one fight tonight, and most of the regulars were getting on amicably, playing pool, drinking, talking. They were very polite to Peter, Wade noticed. He wondered if Weasel had made it clear that they had to go easy on the young man. Or maybe they didn’t want to piss off Wade. That seemed more likely.

“Have you been drinking all this time?” Weasel scoffed, appearing out of nowhere behind Wade.

“Sorry, boss, he made me do it!” Peter said, slurring a bit.

Weasel rolled his eyes but dropped the issue. “As long as he paid, I don’t care. But don’t forget you’re closing tonight, Pete. You think you can do it?”

“Uhh...yeah, sure. Um, what time?”

“One hour. Don’t screw it up.” Weasel said and stalked off.

“Mm, gotta do the -- the thing…” Peter mumbled, resting his head on the bar. 

“You are _so_ drunk!”

“‘m not.”

“Yeah, you are!”

Peter yawned like a kitten and Wade restricted the urge to swaddle him in something. “Howcomeyou’reno’drunk?”

“I’m a big tough guy. ‘I ate a bowl of nails for breakfast this morning. _Without any milk.’_ ”

“Spongebob ref’rence, nice,” Peter said. “ ‘I was born with glass bones and paper skin. Every morning I break my legs, and every afternoon I break my arms. At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep.’ ”

Wade guffawed, and Peter joined him, their laughter mingling in the air, along with the thwack of the snooker balls, the clinking of glasses, the familiar sounds of Sister Margaret’s patrons. A thought occurred to him. “Hey, why don’t I help you close up?”

Peter agreed and Wade told himself he was just trying to help Weasel’s business.

* * *

Wade was able to get all the customers out of the door as Peter stacked chairs and cleaned the bar. Peter was sobering up steadily. He was still going to call the boy a taxi, though. Peter could argue if he wanted but Wade was as stubborn as a bloodstain.

They made a game of the sweeping, somehow leading to an impromptu hockey match, using brooms as hockey sticks and an empty coke bottle as the puck. Wade was trying to tell him about curling as Peter giggled in his ear. Peter apparently found it hilarious that Wade was Canadian.

“I can’t believe you’re, oh my gosh, why don’t you have the’ accent? D’you say oot and aboot?”

“Yeah, and I enjoyed free healthcare for years, so...”

“Oh wow,” Peter sighed, gripping the pool table for balance. He still held his ersatz hockey stick with his other hand. “I wish I had free healthcare. I had a sore tooth before, I seriously thought about pulling it out with a string, like in cartoons.”

“You don’t have insurance?”

“ _Ugh._ Ugh is my reply. I -- I really need this job. Oh God.”

Wade reached out a hand, but thought better of it. “Weasel’s not gonna can you, he likes you, I can tell.” 

“Yeah, yeah…” Peter mumbled, finally releasing his death grip on the edge of the pool table. He used his broom as a crutch, walking a lurching step towards Wade. Wade held out his arms like you would to a toddler, and caught Peter, firmly holding him by the biceps.

“Whoops,” Peter laughed, leaning into him. Wade knew it was inebriation and gravity that was making Peter snuggle against him like this, but damn it, he didn’t care. Let him enjoy this moment, okay?

“I’m going to call you a taxi and you’re going to go home and drink a whole lot of water, okay?” Wade said and wiped Peter’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. Those big brown eyes were even more powerful up close, shining with that happy drunken glaze and looking up at Wade so trustfully.

“Mm, thanks. Hey, Wade?” Peter whispered, his lips brushing Wade’s ear.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Y’could -- we could...fool around. If y’want. On the pool table. You could do anything to me.”

Wade groaned inwardly, his cursedly vivid imagination helpfully showing him just how great that could be. Peter, finally out of those rain-battered jeans, bent over the table, begging Wade to fuck him. Or Peter, lounging on the table (he was so light, Wade was sure the table could take it), his long, pale legs hanging over the side as Wade showed him what a _real_ blow job was. It would be euphoric, glorious, fucking heavenly...it would be wrong.

He had no intentions of doing it. Peter was drunk, his head was full of booze, he couldn’t be called on to give consent. So, Wade held Peter’s lax body to him, mumbling a “Sure, babe,” while pressing his phone to ear, hearing the familiar greeting of the taxi dispatcher.

* * *

It was only hours later, as Wade sat in his bath at home, cleaning off dried blood and grime from under his fingernails, that he remembered something Peter had said. He grabbed for his phone with slippery fingers and typed ‘Stinger cocktail’. 

He clicked on the first link, which was to the stinger’s Wikipedia page. He scrolled through the page. According to Wiki, the Stinger that Peter made had a substitution, because Stingers are usually made with brandy, not vodka. Stingers made with vodka are called ‘Vodka Stingers’ or are also known as ‘White Spiders’. Huh.


End file.
